


we will fall like ripe fruit

by asael



Series: ripe & blooming [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Pining, Public Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: When Claude and Dimitri are captured, they have to keep their identities secret - and that leads to an intimacy that neither of them were prepared for.





	we will fall like ripe fruit

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are accurate soooo if this isn't up your alley I'm... sorry........
> 
> Originally this was meant to be for my final fictober prompt, 'ripe', but as you can see it really got away from me. Still counts though, right???
> 
> Also, this is not really necessary to know at all, but I envisioned this as Azure Moon route except Claude stayed to help Dimitri out after Derdriu.

Claude had thought he was being so clever, so careful. Sneak into Almyra with Dimitri, rally forces from those few who would follow Claude. Bolster it with a show of Dimitri’s strength, to bring a few more to their side - Almyrans always respected strength, and Dimitri had it in scores. With Almyran forces joining his army, he’d easily be able to secure Fódlan, and it would be the first step towards breaking down those barriers between their homelands.

It wouldn’t take long, he’d thought. They could manage it in a couple weeks, a month at most. It would be _easy_.

And it _should_ have been easy. Despite having left Almyra years before, Claude still did the best he could to keep up on the ebb and flow of politics there. He’d picked a route that went through peaceful territory, lands under the control of a warlord who was loyal to the king, and who - if he even noticed them - would not interfere.

But as it turned out, his information was out of date. Barely - Claude gathered that the warlord he’d expected to find had been defeated so recently that word hadn’t spread yet. But it didn’t matter how recently it had happened. What mattered was that, when warriors on wyvernback surrounded them and held them at swordspoint, their colors were not those that Claude expected.

Indeed, they belonged to a lord who Claude knew very well was not on good terms with the king. A lord who had, once upon a time, sent an assassin to kill a young prince.

So that wasn’t great.

And now they’d been brought before him to answer for themselves, which was better than the alternative. For a moment, Claude had feared they would simply be killed - Dimitri was so obviously not Almyran.

But they hadn’t, and now he had a chance to talk them out of this. Maybe.

Lord Avesta lounged in his elegantly-carved chair, watching them both. There was an axe at his side, close enough to take up easily. Against the walls of the chamber stood his warriors, impassive and very well armed.

Outside was an encampment full of more warriors. They wouldn’t be able to fight their way out. He’d told Dimitri as much, under his breath, and Dimitri had reluctantly agreed. He’d also asked Dimitri to trust him, though it remained to be seen whether that would end up being a good idea.

“Well?” Lord Avesta said. He spoke the tongue of Fódlan with ease, though there was a touch of an accent on his words. He used it deliberately, speaking to Claude but in a language that Dimitri would understand. “You bring one of those spineless Fódlan men here, onto my land. Surely there must be a reason.”

“I didn’t know it was your land, my lord,” Claude said. He thought fast. He’d changed so much since he’d left Almyra, and Avesta had not been the most intelligent of men. He clearly hadn’t recognized Claude, which was an unexpected boon but also the only reason they were still alive.

He’d tried to kill Claude once before. If he did it here and now, no one would ever know.

So claiming his title as Prince of Almyra and demanding to be released was pretty much off the table. He needed something harmless, something that portrayed them as nothing more than simple travelers. But there were only a few reasons an Almyran would bring someone from Fódlan to their land.

What he wanted - what he needed - was for Avesta to perceive them as no threat at all. To believe that letting them go free would cause no trouble at all. This, unfortunately, was rather difficult when they’d both been carrying weapons and Dimitri was - well, Dimitri. It was hard to look at him and _not_ see a threat.

So, in that bare moment he had to think, Claude seized on the most innocuous possible explanation an Almyran might have for bringing a man of Fódlan home with him.

“He’s my lover,” Claude said, and smiled, reaching to take Dimitri’s arm. He felt Dimitri stiffen beneath his fingers, but luckily Avesta didn’t seem to notice. _Play along,_ Claude thought, _trust me_, but he couldn’t risk looking at Dimitri to try to reassure him. This had to seem natural, normal. “I’m taking him home to meet my family. To prove his worth, so that we can be married.”

It was Almyran custom, and though it had slowly been falling out of fashion for years was still common enough to be unremarkable. Before a wedding, before even a proposal, the suitor would present themselves to their beloved’s family and be put through a series of tasks to prove their worth. In the past, these had generally been dangerous and required high levels of skill - these days, they were more likely to be simple and even silly. 

The important thing was that it was a completely unthreatening excuse.

Avesta’s eyes rested on Claude’s hand where it wrapped around Dimitri’s arm, and Claude tried not to let his tension show, tried not to show any cracks.

He felt warm skin against his own, then, Dimitri’s hand covering his. And it helped - it helped to know that Dimitri was playing along, and it helped to simply have that contact. Claude felt the slightest bit of tension leave his shoulders.

“He’ll have a lot to prove,” Avesta said, eyes narrowing though his smile was wide. “Marrying one of our enemies? I suppose we can blame this on the king’s stupid love affair.”

And that brought the tension right back. It was a chance comment, Claude thought, Avesta had not recognized him - but they were still very much in danger. He had to sell this.

“You can’t help who you love,” he said, and leaned closer to Dimitri, who allowed it. Who looked down at him, though Claude didn’t turn to see what his eye might hold. He was too focused on the man in front of them, the man watching them with suspicious eyes. “I think he’ll impress them.”

“He is rather… impressive,” Avesta said, and he leaned forward, looking at Dimitri now. “It’s hard to believe a warrior like this would come here simply for love. You were armed, were you not?”

_Step carefully,_ Claude thought, and he shrugged, seemingly carefree. “Even here in Almyra there are bandits. As we were traveling alone, it would have been foolish to come unarmed.” He thanked whatever higher power might exist that they had not brought their relics, though. No normal travelers would have such a thing. They would have been given away instantly.

“Hm,” Avesta said, and leaned back in his chair. “If you’re nothing more than a foolish boy and his poor choice in partners, I ought to just let you go.”

Claude held very still. Dimitri, next to him, could have been a statue.

“But I’m not sure I believe that,” he continued. “Prove it.”

_Prove it?_

Claude knew what Avesta meant. Of course he did. The way he was looking at them, suspicious but - interested. Smug. Amused with himself.

He wanted a show.

Claude looked up at Dimitri, finally meeting his gaze. Dimitri looked nervous, uncomfortable. The ruse Claude had chosen clearly didn’t sit well on him, and Claude knew immediately he couldn’t force Dimitri to playact for this man’s enjoyment. He’d have to find another way, somehow.

“My lover is rather shy,” he started, but Dimitri’s hand on his tightened.

“No,” Dimitri said, his voice low. The first time he’d spoken since they’d been brought in here, since Claude had said _trust me_. Dimitri had trusted him. Was trusting him now. “I don’t mind.”

Claude wanted to ask if he was sure, but that wouldn’t suit the characters they were playing. If Dimitri really had been his lover, if Dimitri and Claude were close enough that Claude was bringing him to meet his family, then any more hesitation wouldn’t make sense.

And so Claude turned to Dimitri and reached up, sliding a hand around the back of his neck and tugging him gently down. That made it easier for Claude, meant that he didn’t have to stretch up so far to press his lips to Dimitri’s. He didn’t pause, he didn’t hesitate, though his heart was beating hard in his chest.

Dimitri’s lips were warm and dry, and his arm slid around Claude’s waist, strong and stable. He wasn’t hesitant either, kissing Claude like it was something he wanted to do, something he desired.

For a moment, Claude could pretend that Dimitri did want this. That he’d kissed Claude of his own accord, because he wanted to, because he _had_ wanted to for a long time. Because he wanted Claude.

It was a pretty fantasy. A foolish one, a dangerous one.

Because Claude, after all, had wanted Dimitri’s lips on his for so long now.

He couldn’t put his finger on when it had begun. Back at the Academy, he’d thought Dimitri was handsome, and surely he’d thought about it then - idly, with no real urgency or intent to act on it. It was only after they met again, during the war, that Claude’s unspoken attraction had flowered into something more intense.

He had not acted on it. He hadn’t intended to, with the chaos around them and his intent to leave once he was comfortable with the way the war was going. In an ideal scenario, Dimitri would be king and Claude would be taking care of what needed to be done in Almyra. There was no possibility of any future between them.

He’d enjoyed this journey together, at least until now, enjoyed having Dimitri’s company and attention all to himself. He’d enjoyed it more than he was willing to admit. Claude could fantasize about Dimitri’s lips, could enjoy his company, but acting on it would only endanger their alliance. 

That was what he had told himself all this time.

Now Dimitri was kissing him, and goddess, it was good.

There was a tightly-leashed passion in Dimitri, something he controlled carefully now that he’d gotten control of himself. Claude could feel it in their kiss. Even though he knew this hadn’t been Dimitri’s choice, even though he knew Dimitri didn’t - couldn’t - want him like that, Dimitri kissed him like he did.

He kissed Claude like it was something real, and Claude kissed him back, and he hated it almost as much as he loved it, because for him it _was_ something real.

They separated, finally. Claude’s gaze slid over the flush on Dimitri’s cheeks, filing that away to think of again when he was alone. If they survived this. He smiled, trying to thank Dimitri quietly, trying to reassure him.

“I almost believe it,” Avesta said. Claude hadn’t forgotten him - he’d simply decided focusing on Dimitri was a thousand times more pleasant.

He slid a harmless, slightly frightened expression back onto his face before turning to the man. Dimitri’s arm, still around his waist, didn’t fall away - instead, he simply rested his hand on the small of Claude’s back. Like a lover might.

“What reason would we have to lie to you, my lord?” Claude said. His eyes flickered to the warriors by the doorway, still holding their weapons, still ready to step forward at a word.

“Oh, I’m sure there are a hundred reasons,” Avesta said, and his grin was beginning to verge on a leer. “You’re going to have to do more than that to convince me.”

He didn’t care, Claude realized. He didn’t believe they were a threat anymore - not really. Now he was just toying with them, just playing a game.

And they had to play along, because their lives were still in the balance.

“I’m happy to kiss him as many times as you like,” Claude said, playing dumb. It was hopeless, he knew, but he still tried.

“That won’t prove anything. You'll have to do more than that if you want to keep your heads.” Avesta leaned forward, a lecherous glimmer in his eyes. He wasn’t an intelligent man - if he were, he’d have recognized Claude’s green eyes, so like his mother’s, or seen through their admittedly rather flimsy excuse - and for that, Claude had been thankful. Now he wasn’t so sure. An intelligent man could more easily be reasoned with. 

Avesta wanted a show, and Claude wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of it.

He took a breath, steadying himself, and looked up at Dimitri. The set of Dimitri’s shoulders was tense, the line of his lips - soft lips, Claude now knew - uncomfortable.

There wasn’t a way out of this that didn’t involve intimacy, Claude knew, and intimacy in front of this man, in front of his cadre of warriors. But he didn’t have to make it any harder on Dimitri than it needed to be.

He reached for the ties at the front of Dimitri’s trousers, beginning to kneel. This was, he thought, the easiest way - Dimitri wouldn’t have to do anything, and it wasn’t as if Claude hadn’t ever wanted to suck him off. It wasn’t as if Claude hadn’t thought about it, in the darkness of his rooms. What Dimitri might taste like, the weight of his cock on Claude’s tongue.

This isn’t where he’d have wanted to do it - and naturally he would have preferred a willing Dimitri, one who _wanted_ him - but at least he could make it pleasant for both of them.

Dimitri inhaled sharply, and reached out as if to catch him, or maybe just touch him.

Avesta’s voice was harsh in the quiet of the room. “No.”

Claude gritted his teeth, swallowed his anger and unease, and looked at him. “My lord?”

Avesta spoke to Dimitri now, the first time he’d addressed him directly. “You’re going to fuck him.”

Dimitri stiffened, his hand - still on Claude’s back - suddenly gripping Claude’s shirt. Like he was struggling for composure. Like he was trying not to explode.

It took a moment for Dimitri to speak. “I have no wish for either you or your men to see - my lover like that.” His words were stilted, awkward, and Claude was glad that the situation made that seem normal. Dimitri was not, had never been, a particularly talented liar.

“You can do it,” Avesta said, and his eyes narrowed, and he smiled, “or _I_ can do it.”

The tension in the room shifted, though Claude, the only one there who truly knew Dimitri, was sure he was the only one who could tell. It was the look in his eyes, the way he was holding himself - all barely suppressed fury and bubbling violence. Coiled like a lion about to leap, his fist clenched by his side, his teeth bared.

But if he attacked Avesta, they would certainly both die.

“It’s all right,” Claude said, reaching up, putting his hand to Dimitri’s cheek and forcing Dimitri to look at him. It looked like a lover’s touch, but he had to use considerably more force than a lover might to turn Dimitri’s gaze away from the man taunting him. He made Dimitri lock eyes with him, made him focus on Claude instead. “I don’t mind.”

That was not entirely true. He wanted Dimitri, had wanted him for a long time, but not like this. Not forced, not as a false display for a man who could kill them anytime he pleased. He wanted - something real. He wanted Dimitri to be with him because he _wanted_ him.

But if that wasn’t how it was going to be, at least it would still be Dimitri.

To Claude’s surprise, Dimitri leaned down and caught his lips in another kiss - searing, shaking Claude down to his bones. Claude didn’t know what to make of it, and when Dimitri pulled back, all he said was, “If you’re sure.”

He wasn’t. They didn’t have a choice. So he smiled, and stroked Dimitri’s cheek, and said: “Yes.”

Avesta laughed, and gestured for one of his men, who stepped forward only long enough to give them a vial of oil. Claude refused to meet his eyes, very aware that the four men ranged along the wall were about to see him in a way that few had. He still caught the edge of the man’s leer, though, and felt Dimitri’s barely-contained rage.

This could easily go very wrong - more than it had already - so Claude knew they had to make it good. They had to make it real, and Dimitri seemed to know that as well, because he was taking off his traveling cloak and laying it on the floor so they might have something warmer than the hard stone to lay on.

Claude wished briefly, fruitlessly, for even one moment to speak to Dimitri in private. To make sure he didn’t hate the thought of this, to reassure him, to - he wasn’t sure. To be _them_ for a moment, rather than these roles they had to play. But they didn’t have that luxury.

He only hesitated for a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the floor. In truth, he didn’t mind the eyes on him that much - he wasn’t ashamed of his scars or his body, and if they wanted to look at him, that was fine. But Dimitri was a different story.

Claude hadn’t ever seen him without his clothing, but he knew that after everything he’d been through that Dimitri had more than his fair share of scars. Enough to be noticed, enough to be remarked upon. The missing eye was already almost too much for their cover story. If they were looking at him, they weren’t looking at Dimitri.

Claude took off his trousers, his underclothes, everything - and when he looked up, the first gaze he noticed on him was Dimitri’s.

He didn’t care what Avesta or his men thought of him. He _did_ care what Dimitri thought, what he felt when he looked at Claude. But he couldn’t ask, he couldn’t seem to care, because of course if this were all true then Dimitri would have seen him like this a thousand times. Claude took a breath, and smiled, and stepped towards Dimitri. 

Dimitri’s hands clenched into fists for a moment, just a moment, and then he was reaching out. He brushed Claude’s sides, his stomach, not sure where to touch, finally settling on Claude’s hips, pulling him closer gently. He touched Claude with a hint of unease, but almost no hesitation, and Claude stretched up to kiss him again, pressing the length of his body against Dimitri’s.

Every time he kissed Dimitri it was easier, every time Dimitri kissed back with more passion, more need. Claude didn’t know what to make of it, except that he knew Dimitri was not a good actor, and so he must be feeling _something_. Now wasn’t the time to let his unreasonable heart wonder what, and so Claude told himself it was natural, that Claude was not unattractive and Dimitri didn’t have a lover and probably hadn’t had one for a long time - that it was just what it seemed like, simple need in a situation where they had no choice.

He tried not to hope for anything more, but Dimitri’s hungry kisses - the way he slid a hand up Claude’s back, into his hair, pulling his head back to deepen their kiss - made that very hard.

When he finally pulled away, only far enough to unbutton Dimitri’s shirt and unfasten his pants, he was half-hard. Just from that, just from Dimitri’s mouth on his, and he heard Avesta laugh, heard a low comment to one of his men about Claude being eager for it. He didn’t care.

After all, they weren’t _wrong_.

Dimitri’s chest was scarred, Claude knew his back even more so, and he hoped that this would be enough. And for once, it seemed, they were lucky - he heard no demands that Dimitri disrobe as well. Claude reached out, tracing his fingers over a scar that arced below Dimitri’s ribs, and then he leaned in, pressing his mouth to Dimitri’s chest.

He felt Dimitri inhale a stuttering breath, and then Claude slipped a hand into his open trousers.

Dimitri - either not as stupidly eager as Claude or more affected by the men watching them - was not hard, but the touch of Claude’s hand made him gasp and he responded quickly, getting hard as Claude stroked him, as Claude kissed his chest and took a nipple into his mouth and sucked.

He held on to Claude through it all, one hand in his hair and one on his hip, then sliding lower, over the curve of Claude’s ass. Claude could hear Dimitri’s breath in his ear, feel the warmth of his body, the weight of him in Claude’s hand, and he _wanted_.

It was ridiculous how much he wanted Dimitri, even here, even like this.

He looked up at Dimitri’s and he could see the way his eye flickered to Claude, then away, to the men watching them, their weapons, Avesta. Claude stepped back, letting his hand slip out of Dimitri’s trousers.

“Come on,” he said softly, for Dimitri alone, though he knew they could all hear him. “Just look at me.”

And Dimitri took a breath, and he did.

He looked only at Claude, even while Avesta smirked and said, “Get to it, he’s hungry for it,” and his men laughed. He looked only at Claude as Claude drew him down to the ground, thankful for the thin warmth of Dimitri’s cloak.

And he looked at Claude as Claude spread the oil on his fingers and slid them into himself, opening himself up.

Just one at first, and then two, and Dimitri freed his cock - undeniably hard now - and stroked himself while he watched Claude. He took the vial of oil and slicked himself up, and Claude was watching _him_ now, moving his fingers inside himself, wanting so badly for more.

The men watching them were talking now, laughing, making crude comments about Claude, about Dimitri’s size, about the show they were putting on, but Claude didn’t care and Dimitri didn’t even seem to hear them. He caught Claude’s leg under his knee and Claude slid his fingers out of himself, breathing hard now.

Dimitri met his eyes, waiting for something, waiting for permission, and under the talking, the laughter, Claude said - so quietly - “_Dimitri_.” 

And then Dimitri was pushing into him.

He was big, and Claude hadn’t done this in awhile, but the oil helped and Dimitri went slowly, all barely-contained passion and studied care. When he was all the way in, he stopped, letting Claude get used to him, and Claude heard someone say, “Fuck him already.”

Ridiculously, he thought: _yes_, and then he met Dimitri’s eye, the mingled concern and lust there, and he said, “I want this.”

Dimitri made a sound, something like a moan, and started moving. Everything else fell away, everything except Dimitri inside him, above him, thrusting into him. Whatever restraint Dimitri had seemed to disappear, and Claude could believe - so easily - that Dimitri wanted him as badly as he wanted Dimitri. 

He fucked into Claude with thrusts that were almost too rough, almost but not quite, and Claude gripped the cloak beneath him and - some part of him didn’t want to give these men a show, didn’t want them to know how much he actually wanted this, how good it felt, but wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t that what would keep them alive?

So he let go, he let himself cry out and move against Dimitri’s thrusts, he let himself enjoy every moment, the stretch and burn of Dimitri’s cock inside him, the bright burst of pleasure whenever Dimitri brushed that particular spot. The only thing he didn’t say was Dimitri’s name, not since that whisper. He kept that to himself, as much as he wanted to let it fall from his lips, whatever cleverness left in his desire-stricken mind enough to keep him from revealing even that small piece of their true identities.

And he looked at Dimitri, and he didn’t look anywhere else. Dimitri, who looked back at him even while his movements grew harder, more staccato, even while he pushed himself to the brink.

They weren’t alone, this wasn’t real, but there - in that moment - it felt more real than anything Claude had ever felt before.

Dimitri fucked into him again, and Claude’s climax almost came as a surprise, so caught up he’d been in Dimitri. He came hard, painting his stomach, shuddering through it and arching and crying out, and Dimitri thrust one more time, and then again, and then he was coming inside Claude, biting his lip and groaning.

They lay there together for a moment, breathing hard, coming back to themselves, and then Dimitri pulled out of Claude carefully, and Claude remembered where they were, and through some miraculous feat managed to start thinking again.

There was laughter, and a smattering of applause, and Avesta said, “That was pretty convincing.” His smirk might have infuriated Claude if he hadn’t just been fucked silly by the man he’d held a torch for for months. In the face of that, he couldn’t summon much annoyance. “After a show like that, I suppose I _have_ to let you go.”

And, remarkably, he did. Whatever they’d done that had convinced him, they’d saved their own lives with it. A simple wave to his warriors and they were taken from his stronghold, alive and intact. He kept most of their supplies, of course, but his warriors escorted them to the edge of his territory and saw them off with - of all things - congratulations on their future marriage.

They’d been given a chance to dress, but not to clean up, and Claude felt sticky and used. He knew that he should probably feel worse than that - violated, maybe, since neither of them had chosen it - but he simply didn’t. He watched Dimitri carefully as they walked, putting distance between Avesta’s warriors and themselves.

When they were far enough away, he spoke. He wanted to ask if Dimitri was all right, if this had changed things between them, if any part of what had happened in there had been real, but the truth was that Claude was afraid of the answer. He was afraid that he’d imagined things, that Dimitri had forced himself through it, that the passion that had felt so real had been nothing but.

So instead, he just said, “Thanks for trusting me - and for not trying to kill them.” It was wry, but honest. He knew Dimitri had come close to it. Even now, Claude found himself somewhat amazed they’d made it out alive.

Dimitri looked at him, and for a long moment Claude felt that blue eye on him. He didn’t know what to read into it. His body still ached where Dimitri had been inside him, his heart still ached from the trust he had been given.

“I would have killed him if he laid a hand on you.” Dimitri said finally, flatly, as if it was nothing more than a simple, factual statement, and something about it - the words, the tone - made hope flower in Claude’s chest.

_Maybe,_ he thought, thinking of Dimitri’s steady gaze, his hungry mouth, his hands. _Maybe._


End file.
